That isn't even near true...
If you mix a "A LITTLE OF ALL THREE", red,blue and green...you get White! But what would you know about astronomy? Your mother
doesn't even let you out of the basement. And when she brings friends home she tells them "I have no son, he's dead!"
Here are the things your mother says about you:
He should drink too much castor oil.
Let him suffer and remember.
Throw salt in his eyes, pepper in his nose.
Leeches should drink him dry.
He should laugh with lizards.
He should grow a wooden tongue.
Venereal disease should consume his body.
Why bother getting up alive?
He should crap blood and pus.
He should go nuts and run around (through the streets).
I should outlive him long enough to bury him.
God should bless him with three people: one should grab him, the second should stab him and the third should hide him.
He should have a large store, and whatever people ask for he shouldn’t have, and what he does have shouldn’t be requested.
All problems I have in my heart, should go to his head.
He should be transformed into a chandelier, to hang by day and to burn by night.
All his teeth should fall out except one to make him suffer.
A hundred houses shall he have, in every house a hundred rooms and in every room twenty beds, and a delirious fever should drive him from bed to bed.
As many years as he’s walked on his feet, let him walk on his hands, and for the rest of the time he should crawl along on his ass.
Let what I wish on him come true (most, even half, even just 10%).
On summer days he should mourn, and on wintry nights, he should torture himself.
Black sorrow is all that his mother should see of him.
He should get so sick as to cough up his mother’s milk.
God should visit upon him the best of the Ten Plagues.
He should see everything, but have no reason (with what) to buy it.
He should marry the daughter of the Angel of Death.
Ten ships of gold should be his and the money should only make him sick.
He should have Pharaoh’s plagues sprinkled with Job’s scabies.
Hang yourself with a sugar rope and you’ll have a sweet death.
You should grow like an onion with your head in the ground.
All of a sudden I'm in the mood for a knish...
The Starmaker
Saul Levy wrote:
>
> A LITTLE OF ALL THREE, YOU FAKIESHIT!
>
> Saul Levy